
Class 



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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



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No. i. Five cents 



Per Year, Fifty cents 




Xittle 3ourne£0 to 
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flDen ano^reat : 
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Hnnouncement* 



The publishers announce that Little 
Journeys will be published monthly and 
that each number will treat of recent visits 
made by Mr. Elbert Hubbard to the homes 
and haunts of various eminent persons. The 
subjects for the coming twelve months have 
been arranged as follows : 
i. George Eliot 7. Victor Hugo 

2. Thomas Carlyle 8. Wm. Wordsworth 

3. John Ruskin 9. W. M. Thackeray 

4. W. E. Gladstone 10. Charles Dickens 

5. J. M. W. Turner 11. Shakespeare 

6. Jonathan Swift 12. Oliver Goldsmith 

Little Journeys : Published Monthly, 
50 cents a year. Single copies, 5 cents, 
postage paid. 

Entered at the Post Office, New Rochelle, N. Y., as 
second class matter. 



Copyright 1894, by 
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 

27 & 29 West 23D Street, New York. 
24 Bedford Street, Strand, London. 

The Knickerbocker Press, New Rochelle, N. Y. 



0* 

i 



GEORGE ELIOT 



11 May I reach 
That purest heaven, be to other souls 
The cup of strength in some great agony, 
Knkindle generous ardor, feed pure love, 
Beget the smiles that have no cruelty — 
Be the good presence of a good diffused, 
And in diffusion ever more intense. 
So shall I join the choir invisible 
Whose music is the gladness of the world." 



GEORGE ELIOT. 



WARWICKSHIRE supplied to the 
world Shakespeare. It also 
gave Mary Ann Evans. No 
one will question but that Shakespeare's 
is the greatest name in English literature ; 
and among writers living or dead, in Eng- 
land or out of it, no woman has ever 
shown us power equal to that of George 
Eliot in the subtle clairvoyance which di- 
vines the inmost play of passions, the 
experience that shows the human ca- 
pacity for contradiction, and the indul- 
gence that is merciful because it under- 
stands. 

Shakespeare lived three hundred years 
ago. According to the records his father, 
in 1563, owned a certain house in Henley 
5 



Gbe founts of 



street, Stratford-on-Avon. Hence we infer 
that William Shakespeare was born there. 
And in all our knowledge of Shake- 
speare's early life (or later) we prefix the 
words, " Hence we infer." 

That the man knew all sciences of his 
day, and had enough knowledge of each 
of the learned professions so that all have 
claimed him as their own, we know. 

He evidently was acquainted with five 
different languages and the range of his 
intellect was world-wide, but where did he 
get this vast erudition ? We do not know, 
and we excuse ourselves by saying that 
he lived three hundred years ago. 

George Kliot lived — yesterday, and we 
know no more about her youthful days 
than we do of that other child of War- 
wickshire. 

One biographer tells us that she was 
born in 1819, another in 1820, and neither 
state the day ; whereas a recent writer in 
the Pall Mall Budget graciously bestows 
onus the useful information that " Wil- 
liam Shakespeare was born on the 21st 
6 



George Eliot 



day of April, 1563, at fifteen minutes of 
two on a stormy morning.' ' 

Concise statements of facts are always 
valuable, but we have none such concern- 
ing the early life of George Eliot. There 
is even a shadow over her parentage, for 
no less an authority than the American 
Cyclopedia Annual for 1880, boldly pro- 
claims that she was not a foundling and, 
moreover, that she was not adopted by a 
rich retired clergyman who gave her a 
splendid schooling. Then the writer 
dives into obscurity but presently reap- 
pears and adds that he does not know 
where she got her education. For all of 
which we are very grateful. 

Shakespeare left five signatures, each 
written in a different way, and now there 
is a goodly crew who spell it " Bacon.' ' 

And likewise we do not know whether 
it is Mary Ann Evans, Mary Anne Evans, 
or Marian Evans, for she herself is said to 
have used each form at various times. 

William Winter — gentle critic, poet, 
scholar — tells us that the Sonnets show a 
7 



Zbc Tbnunts of 



dark spot in Shakespeare's moral record. 
And if I remember rightly similar things 
have been hinted at in sewing circles con- 
cerning George Eliot. Then they each 
found the dew and sunshine in London 
that caused the flowers of genius to blos- 
som. The early productions of both were 
published anonymously, and lastly they 
both knew how to transmute thought 
into gold, for they died rich. 

Lady Godiva rode through the streets 
of Coventry, but I walked — walked all 
the way from Stratford, by way of War- 
wick (call it Warrick, please) and Kenil- 
worth Castle. 

I stopped over night at that quaint and 
curious little inn just across from the 
castle entrance. The good landlady gave 
me the same apartment that was occupied 
by Sir Walter Scott when he came here 
and wrote the first chapter of KeniU 
worth. 

The little room had pretty, white chintz 
curtains tied with blue ribbon, and simi- 
lar stuff draped the mirror. The bed was 
8 



George Eliot 



a big canopy affair — I had to stand on 
a chair in order to dive off into its 
feathery depths — everything was very 
neat and clean, and the dainty linen had 
a sweet smell of lavender. I took one 
parting look out through the open win- 
dow at the ivy mantled towers of the 
old castle, which were all sprinkled with 
silver by the rising moon, and then I fell 
into gentlest sleep. 

I dreamed of playing " I-spy " through 
Keuilworth Castle with Shakespeare, 
Walter Scott, Mary Ann Evans, and a 
youth I used to know in boyhood by the 
name of Bill Hursey. We chased each 
other across the drawbridge, through the 
portcullis, down the slippery stones into 
the donjon keep, around the moat, and 
up the stone steps to the topmost turret 
of the towers. Finally Shakespeare was 
"it," but he got mad and refused to play. 
Walter Scott said it was "no fair," and 
Bill Hursey thrust out the knuckle of one 
middle finger in a very threatening way 
and offered to " do " the boy from Strat- 
9 



Gbe feauttte of 



ford. Then Mary Ann rushed in to still 
the tempest. There 's no telling what 
would have happened had not the land- 
lady just then rapped at my door and 
asked if I called. I awoke with a start 
and with the guilty feeling that I had 
been shouting in my sleep. I saw it was 
morning. "No — that is, yes; my shav- 
ing water, please." 

After breakfast the landlady's boy of- 
fered to take me in his donkey cart to the 
birthplace of George Kliot for five shil- 
lings. He explained that the house was 
just seven miles north ; but Balaam's ex- 
press is always slow, so I concluded to 
walk. At Coventry a cab owner pro- 
posed to show me the house, which he 
declared was near Kenilworth, for twelve 
shillings. The advantages of seeing Ken- 
ilworth at the same time were dwelt upon 
at great length by cabby, but I harkened 
not to the voice of the siren. I got a 
good lunch at the hotel, and asked the 
innkeeper if he could tell me where 
George Kliot was born. He did not 
10 



George Bitot 



know, but said he could show me a house 
around the corner where a family of Bliots 
lived. 

Then I walked on to Nuneaton. A 
charming walk it was ; past quaint old 
houses, some with strawthatched roofs, 
others tiled — roses clambering over the 
doors and flowering hedge-rows white 
with hawthorn flowers. Occasionally I 
met a farmer's cart drawn by one of those 
great, fat, gentle shire horses that George 
Eliot has described so well. All spoke of 
peace and plenty, quiet and rest. The 
green fields and the flowers, the lark-song 
and the sunshine, the dipping willows by 
the stream and the arch of the old stone 
bridge as I approached the village — all 
these I had seen and known and felt be- 
fore from Mill on the Floss. 

I found the house where they say the 
novelist was born. A plain, whitewashed 
stone structure, built two hundred years 
ago ; two stories, the upper chambers 
low, with gable windows ; a little garden 
at the side bright with flowers, where sweet 
ii 



Cbe Ibaunts of 



marjoram vied with onions and beets ; all 
spoke of humble thrift and homely cares. 
In front was a great chestnut tree, and in 
the roadway near were two ancient elms 
where saucy crows were building a nest. 
Here, after her mother died, Mary Ann 
Bvans was housekeeper. Little more 
than a child — tall, timid, and far from 
strong — she cooked and scrubbed and 
washed, and was herself the mother to 
brothers and sisters. Her father was a 
carpenter by trade and agent for a rich 
land owner. He was a stern man — or- 
derly, earnest, industrious, studious. On 
rides about the country he would take 
the tall hollow-eyed girl with him, and 
at such times he would talk to her of the 
great outside world where wondrous 
things were done. The child toiled hard 
but found time to read and question, and 
there is always time to think. Soon she 
had outgrown some of her good father's 
beliefs, and this grieved him greatly ; so 
much, indeed, that her extra loving 
attention to his needs, in a hope to neu- 

12 



<3eorge Bitot 



tralize his displeasure, only irritated him 
the more. And if there is soft subdued 
sadness in much of George Eliot's writing 
we can guess the reason. The onward 
and upward march ever means sad sepa- 
ration. 

When Mary Ann was blossoming into 
womanhood her father moved over near 
Coventry, and here the ambitious girl 
first found companionship in her in- 
tellectual desires. Here she met men 
and women, older than herself, who were 
animated, earnest thinkers. They read 
and then they discussed, and then they 
spoke the things that they felt were true. 
Those eight years at Coventry trans- 
formed the awkward country girl into a 
woman of intellect and purpose. She 
knew somewhat of all sciences, all phi- 
losophies, and she had become a proficient 
scholar in German and French. How 
did she acquire this knowledge ? How is 
any education acquired if not through 
effort prompted by desire ? 

She had already translated Strauss's 
13 



Gbe Ibaunts of 



Life of Jesus in a manner that was accept- 
able to the author, when Ralph Waldo 
Emerson came to Coventry to lecture. 
He was entertained at the same house 
where Miss Evans was stopping. Her 
brilliant conversation pleased him, and 
when she questioned the wisdom of a 
certain passage in one of his essays the 
gentle philosopher turned, smiled, and 
said that he had not seen it in that light 
before ; perhaps she was right. 

" What is your favorite book ? " asked 
Emerson. 

* * Rousseau' s Confessions, ' ' answered 
Mary instantly. 

It was Emerson's favorite, too ; but 
such honesty from a young woman ! It 
was queer. 

Mr. Emerson never forgot Miss Evans 
of Coventry, and ten years after, when 
a zealous reviewer proclaimed her the 
greatest novelist in England, the sage of 
Concord said something that sounded 
like " I told you so." 

Miss Evans had made visits to London 
14 



(3covqc Eliot 



from time to time with her Coventry 
friends. When twenty-eight years old, 
after one such visit to London, she came 
back to the country tired and weary, and 
wrote this most womanly wish :"My only 
ardent desire is to find some feminine task 
to discharge ; some possibility of devot- 
ing myself to some one and making 
that one purely and calmly happy." 

But now her father was dead and her 
income was very scanty. She did trans- 
lating, and tried the magazines with 
articles that generally came back respect- 
fully declined. 

Then an offer came as sub-editor of the 
Westminster Review. It was steady 
work and plenty of it, and this was what 
she desired. She went to London and 
lived in the household of her employer, 
Mr. Chapman. Here she had the oppor- 
tunity of meeting many brilliant people : 
Carlyle, and his "Jeannie Welsh," the 
Martineaus, Grote, Mr. and Mrs. Mill, 
Huxley, Mazzini, Louis Blanc. Besides 
these were two young men who must 
15 



Gbe f)aunts of 



not be left out when we sum up the 
influences that evolved this woman's 
genius. 

She was attracted to Herbert Spencer at 
once. He was about her age and their 
admiration for each other was mutual. 
Miss Evans, writing to a friend in 1852, 
says : "Spencer is kind, he is delightful, 
and I always feel better after being with 
him, and we have agreed together that 
there is no reason why we should not see 
each other as often as we wish." And 
then later she again writes : " The bright 
side of my life, after the affection for my 
old friends, is the new and delightful 
friendship which I have found in Herbert 
Spencer. We see each other every day and 
in everything we enjoy a delightful com- 
radeship. If it were not for him my life 
would be singularly arid." 

But about this time another man ap- 
peared on the scene, and were it not for 
this other man, who was introduced to 
Miss Evans by Spencer, the author of 
Synthetic Philosophy might not now be 
16 



Oeorge Bitot 



spoken of in the biographical dictionaries 
as being " wedded to science." 

It was not love at first sight, for George 
Henry Lewes made a decidedly unfavora- 
ble impression on Miss Evans at their 
first meeting. He was small, his features 
were insignificant, he had whiskers like 
an anarchist and a mouthful of crooked 
teeth ; his personal habits were far from 
pleasant. It was this sort of thing, Dick- 
ens said, that caused his first wife to 
desert him and finally drove her into 
insanity. 

But Lewes had a brilliant mind. He 
was a linguist, a scientist, a novelist, a 
poet, and a wit. He had written biogra- 
phy, philosophy, and a play. He had 
been a journalist, a lecturer, and even an 
actor. Thackeray declared that if he 
should see Lewes perched on a white ele- 
phant in Piccadilly he should not be in 
the least surprised. 

After having met Miss Evans several 
times Mr. Lewes saw the calm depths 
of her mind and he asked her to correct 
17 



Zbc "fcaunts of 



proofs for him. She did so and discov- 
ered that there was merit in his work. 
She corrected more proofs, and when a 
woman begins to assist a man the danger 
line is being approached. Close observ- 
ers noted that a change was coming over 
the bohemian Lewes. He had his whisk- 
ers trimmed, his hair was combed, and 
the bright yellow necktie had been dis- 
carded for a clean one of modest brown, 
and, sometimes, his boots were blacked. 
In July, 1854, Mr. Chapman received a let- 
ter from his sub-editor resigning her posi- 
tion, and Miss Evans notified some of her 
closest friends that hereafter she wished 
to be considered the wife of Mr. Lewes. 
She was then in her thirty-sixth year. 

The couple disappeared, having gone to 
Germany. 

Many people were shocked. Some said 
"we knew it all the time," and when 
Herbert Spencer was informed of the fact 
he exclaimed " Goodness me ! " and said 
— nothing. 

After six months spent in Weimar and 



George JEltot 



other literary centres, Mr. and Mrs. Lewes 
returned to England and began house- 
keeping at Richmond. Any one who 
views their old quarters there will see 
how very plainly and economically they 
were forced to live. But they worked 
hard, and at this time the future novel- 
ist's desire seemed only to assist her hus- 
band. That she developed the manly 
side of his nature none can deny. They 
were very happy, these two, as they 
wrote, and copied, and studied, and 
toiled. 

Three years passed, and Mrs. Lewes 
wrote to a friend : "I am very happy; 
happy with the greatest happiness that 
life can give — the complete sympathy 
and affection of a man whose mind stimu- 
lates mine and keeps up in me a whole- 
some activity." 

Mr. Lewes knew the greatness of his 
helpmeet. She herself did not. He 
urged her to write a story ; she hesitated, 
and at last attempted it. They read the 
first chapter together and cried over it. 
19 



Zbc Ibaunts of 



Then she wrote more and always read 
her husband the chapters as they were 
turned off. He corrected, encouraged, 
and found a publisher. But why should 
I tell about it here ? It 's all in the 
Brtttantca— how the gentle beauty and 
sympathetic insight of her work touched 
the hearts of great and lowly alike, and 
of how riches began flowing in upon her. 
For one book she received $40,000, and 
her income after fortune smiled upon her 
was never less than $ 10,000 a year. 

Lewes was her secretary, her protector, 
her slave, and her inspiration. He kept 
at bay the public that would steal her 
time, and put out of her reach, at her 
request, all reviews, good or bad, and 
shielded her from the interviewer, the 
curiosity seeker, and the greedy finan- 
cier. 

The reason why she at first wrote un- 
der a nom de plume is plain. To the 
great wallowing world she was neither 
Miss Evans nor Mrs. I/ewes, so she 
dropped both names as far as title pages 
20 



(Seorse Bitot 



were concerned and used a man's name 
instead — hoping better to elude the pack. 

When Adam Bede came out a resident 
of Nuneaton purchased a copy and at 
once discovered local ear-marks. The 
scenes described, the flowers, the stone 
walls, the bridges, the barns, the people 
— all was Nuneaton. Who wrote it ? No 
one knew, but it was surely some one in 
Nuneaton. So they picked out a Mr. 
Liggins, a solemn-faced preacher, who 
was always about to do something great, 
and they said " Liggins.' ' Soon all Lon- 
don said " Liggins." As for Liggins, 
he looked wise and smiled knowingly. 
Then articles began to appear in the 
periodicals purporting to have been 
written by the author of Adam Bede. 
A book came out called Adam Bede, Jr., 
and to protect her publisher, the public, 
and herself, George Eliot had to reveal 
her identity. 

Many men have written good books 
and never tasted fame ; but few, like Lig- 
gins of Nuneaton, have become famous 
21 



Gbe Daunts of 



by doing nothing. It only proves that 
some things can be done as well as 
others. This breed of men has long 
dwelt in Warwickshire ; Shakespeare 
had them in mind when he wrote : 
" There be men who do a wilful stillness 
entertain with purpose to be dressed in 
an opinion of wisdom, gravity, and pro- 
found conceit . . . " 

Lord Acton in an able article in the 
Nineteenth Century makes this state- 
ment : 

" George Bliot paid high for happiness 
with Lewes. She forfeited freedom of 
speech, the first place among English 
women, and a tomb in Westminster 
Abbey." 

The original dedication in Adam 
Bede reads thus: "To my dear hus- 
band, George Henry Lewes, I give the 
manuscript of a work which would never 
have been written but for the happiness 
which his love has conferred on my life." 

Lord Acton of course assumes that this 
book would have been written, dedication 
22 



George Eliot 



and all, just the same had Miss Evans 
never met Mr. Lewes. 

Once there was a child called Romola. 
She said to her father one day, as she sat 
on his knee : " Papa, who would take care 
of me — give me my bath and put me to 
bed nights — if you had never happened to 
meet Mamma?" 

The days I spent in Warwickshire were 
very pleasant. The serene beauty of the 
country and the kindly courtesy of the 
people impressed me greatly. Having 
seen the scenes of George Eliot's child- 
hood I desired to view the place where 
her last days were spent. It was a fine 
May-day when I took the little steamer 
from Ivondon Bridge for Chelsea. 

A bird call from the dingy brick build- 
ing where Turner died and two blocks 
from the old home of Carlyle is Cheyne 
Walk — a broad avenue facing the river. 
The houses are old, but they have a look 
of gracious gentility that speak of ease 
and plenty. High iron fences are in 
23 



Cbe Ibaunts of 



front, but they do not shut off from view 
the climbing clematis and clusters of 
roses that gather over the windows and 
doors. 

I stood at the gate of No. 4 Cheyne 
Walk and admired the pretty flowers, 
planted in such artistic carelessness as to 
beds and rows, then I rang the bell ; an 
old pull-out affair with polished knob. 

Presently a butler opened the door — a 
pompous, tall and awful butler, in serious 
black and side whiskers. He approached ; 
came down the walk swinging a bunch of 
keys, looking me over as he came to see 
what sort of wares I had to sell. 

" Did George Eliot live here ? " I asked 
through the bars. 

"Mrs. Cross lived 'ere and died 'ere, 
sir," came the solemn and rebuking an- 
swer. 

" I mean Mrs. Cross," I added meekly ; 
" I only wished to see the little garden 
where she worked." 

Jeemes was softened. As he unlocked 
the gate he said : " We 'ave many wisit- 
24 



George JEliot 



ers, sir ; a great bother, sir ; still, I always 
knows a gentleman when I sees one. 
P'r'aps you would like to see the 'ouse, 
too, sir. The missus does not like it 
much but I will take 'er your card, sir." 

I gave him the card and slipped a shil- 
ling into his hand as he gave me a seat in 
the hallway. 

He disappeared upstairs and soon re- 
turned with the pleasing information 
that I was to be shown the whole house 
and garden. So I pardoned him the myth 
about the missus, happening to know 
that at that particular moment she was at 
Brighton, sixty miles away. 

A goodly, comfortable house, four 
stories, well kept, and much fine old 
carved oak in the dining-room and hall- 
ways ; fantastic ancient balusters, and a 
peculiar bay-window in the second-story 
rear that looked out over the little gar- 
den. Off to the north could be seen the 
green of Kensington Gardens and wavy 
suggestions of Hyde Park. This was 
George Eliot's workshop. There was a 
25 



Gbe Ibaunte ot 



table in the centre of the room and three 
low book-cases with pretty ornaments 
above. In the bay-window was the most 
conspicuous object in the room — a fine 
marble bust of Gcethe. This, I was as- 
sured, had been the property of Mrs. 
Cross, as well as all the books and furni- 
ture in the room. In one corner was a 
revolving case containing a set of the 
Century Dictionary, which Jeemes as- 
sured me had been purchased by Mr. 
Cross as a present for his wife a short 
time before she died. This caused my 
faith to waver a trifle and put to flight 
a fine bit of literary frenzy that might 
have found form soon in a sonnet. 

In the front parlor I saw a portrait of 
the former occupant that showed " the 
face that looked like a horse.' ' But that 
is better than to have the face of any 
other animal of which I know. Surely 
one would not want to look like a dog ! 
Shakespeare hated dogs, but spoke forty- 
eight times in his plays in terms of re- 
spect and affection for a horse. Who 
26 



George JEliot 



would not resent the imputation that 
one's face was like that of a sheep or a 
goat or an ox, and much gore has been 
shed because men have referred to other 
men as asses, but a horse ! God bless 
you, yes. 

No one has ever accused George Eliot 
of being handsome, but this portrait tells 
of a woman of fifty : calm, gentle, and 
the strong features speak of a soul in 
which to confide. 

At Highgate, by the side of the grave 
of Lewes, rests the dust of this great and 
loving woman. As the pilgrim enters 
that famous old cemetery the first impos- 
ing monument seen is a pyramid of rare, 
costly porphyry. As you draw near, you 
read this inscription : 

To the memory of 

ANN JEWSON CRISP, 

Who departed this life 

Deeply lamented Jan. 20, 1889. 

Also, 

Her dog, Emperor. 

Beneath these tender lines is a bas- 

27 



(Seorge JBliot 

relief of as vicious a looking cur as ever 
evaded the dog tax. 

Continuing up the avenue, past this 
monument just noted, the kind old gar- 
dener will show you another that stands 
amid others much more pretentious. A 
small gray granite column, and on it, 
carved in small letters, you read : 

" Of those immortal dead who live again in 

minds made better by their presence." 

Here rests the body of 

" GEORGE ELIOT," 

(MARY ANN CROSS), 

Born 22 November, 1819. 
Died 22 December, 1880. 



28 



— Tempest, 

TZbe Brtel Sbafceepeare 

It would seem difficult to find place for 
another edition of Shakespeare, but the 
Ariel edition will be found to differ in so 
many respects from any other edition that it 
is thought no justification will be needed for 
its existence. The distinctive features of the 
edition are as follows : 

i. Each play is in a separate volume. 

2. The sizeof the volume is 3% x 5 inches and about 

a half inch in thickness — of comfortable bulk 
for the pocket. 

3. The page is clearly printed from an entirely new 

font of brevier type. 

4. The text is complete and unabridged^ and con- 

forms to the latest scholarly editions. 

5. As illustrations, the charming designs by Frank 

Howard (first published in 1833), five hundred 
in all, have been effectively reproduced, making 
a series of delicate outline plates. 

Now complete in forty volumes, and issued 
in four styles ; 

A. — Garnet cloth, each ( ... 40 cts. 

Per set, 40 volumes, in box . . . $ 16.00 
B. — Full leather, gilt top, each (in a box) . 75 cts. 

Per set, 40 volumes, in box . . . $30.00 
C. — 40 volumes bound in 20, cloth, in box. 

Per set (sold in sets only) . . . $15.00 
D. — 40 volumes bound in 20, half calf extra, 

gilt tops, in box. Per set (sold in sets 

only) $35.00 

*** Any volume or selection of volumes may be 
purchased in styles A and B. 

M For daintiness, beauty, and convenience, there is 
nothing in the line of Shakespeariana to equal the 
Ariel Shakespeare.^ Unstinted praise must be ac- 
corded to this edition." — Boston Times. 

g. p. putnam's sons 
New York & London 



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Bound in ornamental cloth, 75 cents. 

The Cincinnati Commercial Gazette in its issue of 
May 12, 1894, says : " ' One Day ' is a dear little book 
all bound in dainty blue and silver. The beauty of 
the cover is only a hint of the sweetness and delicacy 
of the story. You can read it in an hour, but its 
lesson of sympathy will benefit you for years." 

The Philadelphia Times of April 21, 1894, says: 
41 It is a coarse sketch of Western life, and includes 
an obnoxious burlesque on an impossible preacher. 
It is a book that every library can do without." 



3f orbes of IbanmrD 

Cloth, bound in Harvard colors, $1.25. 

This book is meeting with fair sale. A few of the 
critics have spoken well of it. 



<5* fl>- Putnam's Sons 

Stationery department 

27 & 29 TKUcgt 23fc Street, -ftew ISorfe 

L Brttetic Stationery 

Special designs in Monograms 
Addresses, Ciphers 

Xeatber ©ooDs 

A Pocket-Books, Card Cases, Portfolios 

Travelling Cases, Photograph Frames from 
original designs 

ffor tbe Library 

Inkstands, Paper-Holders, Book-Racks, 
Photo-Frames, Check-Cutters, Paper- 
weights, Dictionary Holders, Desk Blotters 
E Pen Rests, Novelties in Sterling Silver 

praEer*:JBooks, Ib^mnals 
anD JSibles 

in Choice Bindings 

T Gbristmas GarDs, booklets 

Calendars 



We have now ready a choice stock, from 
which selections may be made. 



Send for List of 

^=IOOs- 
S TANDARD gOOKS 

(Single volumes and small sets, in every department 
of literature), 

In special leather bindings, suitable for 
dainty presents to cultivated people, at mod- 
erate cost. 

ALSO 

CATALOGUE (No. XI.) OF 

C HOICE 
E NGLISH B OOKS 

(Including some rare sets and beautiful 
illustrated volumes), in rich bindings, for 
private libraries and for presents. 

This little catalogue, which we are glad to 
send to anyone interested in having it, men- 
tions a small selection merely, of the exten- 
sive stock of best editions of standard books, 
rare English sets, and single volumes that 
we have on our shelves. Visitors are always 
welcome, and we are glad to have book-lovers 
examine carefully such books as interest them, 
whether or not they have any intention of 
purchasing. 

Correspondence solicited. 



G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 

JDON : NEW Y( 

d St., Strand 27 and 29 We 

(RETAIL DEPARTMENT) 



LONDON : NEW YORK : 

24 Bedford St., Strand 27 and 29 West 23d St. 



IboUoai? Books 

By Washington Irving. Van Tassel 
Edition. With 30 illustrations. 2 vols., 
$6.00 : three-quarter levant, $12.00. 

fmtcfterbocker's IRew I?ork 

By Washington Irving. Van Twiller 
Edition. Illustrated by Kemble. 2 vols., 
$6.00 ; three-quarter levant, $12.00. 

©ID Court %\tc in jfrance 

By^ Frances Elliot. 2 vols., with por- 
traits and views, $4.00 ; half calf, $8.00. 

Woman in jfrance 

During the XVIII. Century. By Julia i 
Kavanagh. With portraits on steel. 2 
vols., $4.00 ; half calf, $8.00. j 

Cbe Xittle /ifcermaiD 

And Other Fairy Tales. By Hans 
Christian Andersen. Illustrated by 
Weguelin. $3.00. 

about Women 

What Men Have Said. An Every Day 
Book, compiled by Rose Porter. $1.00. 

ftbe Arabian Ifti^bts 

Illustrated by Batten. $2.00. 

Zbc %igbt princess 

And Other Fairy Tales. By George 
MacDonald. Illustrated by Maud Hum- 
phrey. $2.00. 



SEND FOR LIST OF HOLIDAY PUBLICATIONS «<j* 




g. p. putnam's sons 
New York & London 



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